


Try Again!

by SabreCat



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Speculation, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabreCat/pseuds/SabreCat
Summary: What if Naga’s time-travel ritual allowed more than a single trip… and that accounted for the player’s save and load shenanigans? A vignette set before Chapter 11, “Mad King Gangrel.”
Relationships: Chrom & My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Kudos: 8





	Try Again!

Most of the camp slept, conserving their strength for the battle to commence on the morrow. Only a few, not yet able or willing to rest, continued their business in the quiet dark. Lon’qu, sharpening his blades by the fire; Libra, carrying out a prayerful vigil; Kellam, standing sentry—somewhere, presumably. And of course, Robin, poring over maps by candlelight, reviewing her strategy until the pawns continued marching in her vision whenever she dared close her eyes.

After one such moment, she opened her eyes again and startled at the sudden appearance of another figure in the tent. She gasped and grabbed for her sword, then half-relaxed, shaking her head, as she recognized who it was.

“Marth. I daren’t ask how you got in here, but why? What do you want?”

The swordswoman had repaired or replaced the mask that covered her eyes. Between that and her customary tight-lipped frown, her face revealed little. She took two paces through the tent, running a gloved hand over the battle plans. “I thought I’d ask you how you intend to defeat King Gangrel.”

Robin scowled. “The more people I detail the plan to, the greater the risk of it being discovered by the enemy.”

Marth turned away, sharply, enough to make her cape snap. “If I still haven’t proven myself to you—after Chrom, after Emmeryn!—I’ll go.”

A pang struck the tactician; if it weren’t for Marth, Chrom would be dead, or gravely wounded at best. Perhaps the incident where she’d stopped the assassin’s blade could have been staged, but each timely rescue thereafter made it less likely the mysterious stranger was concealing her allegiance, however obsessed with secrecy she was. Robin sighed. “No, no. I’m sorry, I’ve nearly exhausted myself going over these plans. Perhaps the prospect of rehearsing them still another time ran out my patience. But for you, yes, I’ll explain. Stay.”

Robin reset the pawns representing Plegia’s known forces and Ylisse’s own, and Marth turned back to watch, intent. “The terrain is wide and open between us and Gangrel’s fortress; we won’t be able to take advantage of cover except at the extremities of our line. Gangrel’s forces are disposed in three main groups: infantry armed with swords and axes in the west, a contingent of mages in the east, and a mixed company attending the king in the south.” She indicated the pieces representing each in turn, finding her energy returning to her as she slipped into her element. “We will proceed in a phalanx formation, a line strung between the east and west camps, with our sturdiest knights meeting the infantry and those hardened against magic engaging the tome-users. Our most elite and versatile combatants, including Chrom and I, will lead the center charge.” She smirked. This was no time for modesty. “We’ve seen how the Plegians fight. If we proceed in measured fashion, they will rush to meet us without awaiting assistance from their rear guard, and we will cut them down as we advance.” She pushed the arc of Ylissian troops forward, sweeping the opposing figures aside before them.

Marth watched and listened, leaning over the map with both hands splayed on the table, until Robin finished her demonstration. Then she straightened and folded her arms. “It’s a very straightforward stratagem.”

Heat rose in the tactician’s face. “We’re able to be ‘straightforward’ because we’ve practiced our roles for this fight over months of campaigning! It may look like a simple battle line, but every man, woman, horse, and pegasus is exactly where they need to be to cover their neighbors’ weaknesses and benefit from their comrades’ strengths. I didn’t just dump them on the board and call it a day.”

“Hmm. Very well.” The swordswoman moved abruptly to the flap of the tent. “I will let you know how it goes.”

Robin blinked. “Wait, what?” But Marth was gone.

 _What a strange woman._ Ylisse’s master strategist rubbed her forehead and resolved to call it a night. But even as she reached around the nearest candle in preparation for blowing it out, its flame stirred with a new breeze from the entrance to the tent. Marth had already returned.

“The cost is too great,” she growled.

Robin stared, mouth parted in astonishment, as Marth strode around to the corner representing the northwest quadrant of the battlefield and jabbed a finger at a trio of black squares behind the bend of a river. “You neglected the fortresses, leaving our most vulnerable allies undefended. Reinforcements from the north descend upon us when we’ve made it scarcely halfway to Gangrel’s fortifications. Olivia, dead. Virion, dead. Lissa, terribly wounded. Libra, cut down as he tries to come to their aid with healing. This is your masterstroke? We will need them in the trials to come!”

The tactician paled. There had been no intelligence on those fortresses. They had appeared abandoned, their garrisons withdrawn to bolster the mad king’s personal guard. But… yes. Forces could indeed be lying in wait there, sequestered in the dungeons and towers, ready to march when their foes’ backs were turned. She ran a hand through her hair. “No… no. You’re right, we can do better. Give me a moment.” She reset the pieces again, this time adding pawns to represent the fortresses’ hidden threats. “We will need to blockade the bridges over the river. Sully and Kellam on one, perhaps, and Lon’qu and Panne on another.” She withdrew their pieces from the Ylissian line, setting them to surround the fortresses. “It will leave our formation much thinner, though. We’ll need to be more precise.” Her hand hovered over each of the remaining units, trembling with concern and fervor. “Mere feints to draw away the eastern and western camps, then.” She peeled away a few more pieces to each side, leaving a scant few in the center, including… “Chrom.” She set her jaw. “He will capture this fortress in the middle south. That will draw out King Gangrel, and our greatest veterans will be close by, ready to strike him down. With the king fallen, the Plegians’ morale will break, and we will accept their surrender.”

Marth regarded her for a moment in silence. She had not realized her breath had quickened so; she took that beat to compose herself, straightening her posture and meeting the blank gaze of the swordswoman’s mask.

Her comment, when it came, was low and intense. “You would use Chrom as bait? Your own betrothed?”

That didn’t just bring heat to her cheeks; Robin’s whole face burned. “My wha—you know about that—about us?” She threw up her hands. “But of course you do! You’re not a prophet or a spy, you’re a gods-damned voyeur!”

The blue-haired woman’s lip curled in disgust. “Believe me, Robin, I have absolutely no interest in witnessing your and Chrom’s intimate moments.”

“Ugh! Fine.” She waved a dismissal, swatting away her own temptation to pry into what Marth knew of her and Chrom’s future together. “Go. You’ve heard my new plan. Go, do whatever it is you do.”

A shrug, the flap of a cape and the rustle of a canvas door, and another moment’s silence. This time, Robin waited, staring at the front of the tent until, as she’d expected, Marth reappeared before her heart had even regained its normal tempo. The swordswoman’s now furious expression did nothing to help it along.

“He dies.”

Robin blanched, again, deeper than before. She nearly lost her balance. “What…?”

“He. Dies.”

She bowed her head, grinding the heel of her palm against the orbit of an eye, fighting tears. “H-how?”

“You are familiar with King Gangrel’s weapon? The Levin Sword?”

“Yes… A blade of thunder. It can draw down lightning from the sky like a mage’s tome. What of it?” Surely Chrom, the great lord, protected by the sturdy walls of a fortress, could weather an attack from such a weapon.

“Lightning has a tendency to stop human hearts, Robin. No matter how noble.”

“No… no.” She shook her head, disbelieving. “I mean, of course there was a chance, but there’s no way…”

Marth slammed a hand on the table. “You knew there was a chance, and yet you committed your husband-to-be to that approach? You hold his life in your hands, and would gamble it away on the percentages?”

Tears ran freely, now. “I didn’t have another option!”

The prophet picked up Chrom’s pawn from the board and shoved it into Robin’s hand. “Find one.”

She held the little figure tight and dried her eyes on her sleeve. She took a deep breath, placed Chrom back on the field, and began to pace around the tent. Marth stood watching, saying nothing more.

“We can’t ignore the fortresses. That much was proven the first time. But… Sully is one of our fastest riders on land, and her horse is mighty enough to bear both her and Kellam. And while Lon’qu and Panne are no cavalry, they move swiftly over this open terrain as well. We can send them with Libra to strike the west camp, then detach and intercept the reinforcements while Libra continues amidfield.” She posed the pieces, then grabbed quill and ink and slashed jagged checkmarks showing their paths. “Anna, the pegasus knights, and I will go defeat the mages in the east. Then we double up astride the pegasi and come join Chrom in the middle of the field.” More pieces deployed, more dark strokes of the pen. “With Libra’s prayers, and my and the mages’ mystic wards, the Levin Sword will hardly touch us. Chrom will meet Gangrel at the fortress, as before, but I will be by his side.” She posed Chrom’s piece and her own on the fortress in the center of the map, amid an arc of friends.

Robin looked up, and saw that Marth’s expression had softened. The mysterious visitor nodded once, still unspeaking, and left the tent a third time.

The tactician sat down. If she’d been near exhaustion before, now she had crossed over to some wild new shore of weariness. She waited for Marth to return. Minutes passed. She began to nod off, the candlelight wavering in and out of her awareness.

Was it over? Had she evaded the prophet’s visions of doom at last?

The sound of arguing voices outside the tent shook her back to wakefulness. _What in the hell?_ Clasping a tome to her chest, she stepped out into the camp.

Marth was standing there. As was Marth. Arguing with Marth, and Marth. Four of them in total, identical, save perhaps in variations of wear on their gear and clothing. They turned to face her, four grim masks, four heads of blue hair, four Falchions, and addressed her in bizarre unison.

“THIS TIME, YOU WIN. BUT AFTER, WE NEED TO TALK.”


End file.
